


Blasphemy, Blas-for-You

by Trista_zevkia



Series: Platonic [18]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Blasphemy, Identity Porn, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sex Tapes, Transvestite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to spark a revolution in six hours?<br/>Sex Tape and Blasphemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blasphemy, Blas-for-You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reader4books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reader4books/gifts).



> Blasphemy Warning! Seriously, you might go to hell if you read this. This is not a dig at Catholics, and I like the current Pope; he seems like a good Christian. It's an alternate universe, taken to nutty extremes so we could have some angsty bad gay sex.  
> Also, the QueenofShire405 gets credit/blame for this, asking for Public Enemies AU. Woops, but I hadn't read that one.

"Aliens and their bloody useless machines."

"Bloody, Batman? Has somebody been spending too much time with their English butler?" Superman asked as he landed next to his teammate. 

"Really, what is the practical purpose of a weapon that transports your enemy to an alternate dimension for twelve hours?" As several members of the JL had been exposed to this weapon and returned with clear reports, they kind of knew what to expect. 

"They measure time differently than humans; it's twelve hours, thirteen minutes, nine seconds." Superman figured the weapon didn’t have to be the only annoying thing around. 

"Does those nine seconds make it a practical weapon? Are those nine seconds going to drag your target back into the same physical location they were at when you shot them into another dimension? Otherwise, any trap you laid for them can be easily sidestepped by, you know, taking a couple of steps to the side." 

"This really offends you." Superman was surprised by the real emotion leaking through Batman’s growl. 

"That kind of technology, the energy it needs to work, and all it's going to do is make me late for my day job." 

"How about I fly you to the Gotham City of this universe. I know you love seeing the difference between Gothams." 

"Don't patronize me." Batman sniffed, as if offended at the very thought. "Sounds like a plan." 

Superman wisely fought the grin off his face, and air lifted Batman to Gotham. It was a short flight, but would have been even shorter if Batman didn't feel the need to look as if he could fly without Superman's help. Flying vertically with Batman standing on his foot and arm around his shoulder looked impressive, but it messed with the aerodynamics. 

"This dimension is a great deal quieter than ours." Superman remarked. 

"Yeah, I'm not picking up much on the radio either. The most popular music seems to be Gregorian Chants." 

"You get popular music channels on your gear?" 

"What, you don't think Batman can dance? Got to hear all the news I can, for more than Batman reasons." 

"Right. Well, Stately Wayne Manor should be just up ahead, but I don't see any lights." 

"If he's anything like our Wayne, twelve hours and a bit won't be enough to get over the questions he has." 

"True enough. Where do you want to go then?" 

"Metropolis looked much the same, so if Gotham matches, one of my bolt holes should exist in the universe. Even if I never turned it into an emergency pit stop." 

Since they were close to Wayne Manor, Superman shifted his eyes to x-ray the structure he knew should be there. Instead, there was only a pile of rubble, and an unused cave. Not sure what this meant, he adjusted his flight to take them directly to the city, hoping Batman's human eyes wouldn't notice the continued lack of light. 

"Directions, if you please." 

Batman's bolt hole turned out to be an ancient and abandoned subway tunnel, built before somebody figured out the limestone bedrock under Gotham wouldn't support such a structure; hence the elevated train. It had collapsed several times before they figured this out, and naturally Batman had been the one to find part of it that was still standing, a manmade cave with collapsed ends. Since they only had twelve hours and a bit less, Clark turned in a tight little circle, drilling a hole through the collapse, like something from a 1980’s movie. A bit of heat vision melted the rock so it would provide years of support. Batman waited to let some air in before he crawled in. 

"I don't like how quiet Gotham is." Bruce muttered, the growl dropped from his voice. 

"Stay here, I'll do some quick shopping." Clark said, and left before Bruce could tell him otherwise. 

He broke into a small public library and stole one of the ancient computers. He would return it in the morning, or at least before he left. There were even printed newspapers and magazines in the small library, so Clark grabbed a few likely looking titles and carried them to Bruce. He then went on a snack run, because he could. 

Bruce had taken his cowl off and searched their temporary lair, if his footprints were to be believed, while Clark was gone. Taking the computer, Bruce worked some of his voodoo with his suit, until the computer was up and running. Clark marveled at how he seemed to get the internet even here, but went back to reading his magazines in the dark. Even in this strange place, the _Rolling Stone_ provided some interesting information. Only when Bruce gave a weary sigh did Clark look up ready to share information. 

"Clark, what would ever possess you to become Pope?" 

Clark knew he could spend hours speculating and probably not come up with an answer, so instead he flipped the magazine across the area to Bruce. "What would cause you to suicide?" 

There was a long moment where they just looked at each other before Bruce replied. "I'm sure one has nothing to do with the other, so let's figure this out.” 

Research took time, even with more than what they had at hand, but they did figure it out with seven hours on the clock. 

Time seemed a little faster here, yet without the same amount of progress as their own universe. SuperPope had grey streaks in his hair, but those had only turned up in the last few years. He'd been raised by devout Catholics, who were now Saint Johnathan and Saint Martha. He'd been a hero, with a crucifix instead of his house shield for many years. Tired of the fight, he'd become more harsh in his punishments, eventually killing Lex Luthor. After a year at a monastery to come to terms with that, he'd instead become the Pope and eventually dictator of the planet. 

There had been a rebellion, starting in Gotham, not known for its devotion to any one religion, but it fell apart when Bruce Wayne was captured. He was tried and excommunicated, but unlike Luthor, he was allowed to live. The _Rolling Stone_ article that captured Clark's attention was a mess of facts and conspiracy theories trying to explain why Bruce was allowed to live. 

It also talked about the now banned video of Bruce's suicide. Even here, he'd planned everything to perfection. On house arrest, he'd hacked into all the satellites of the world, made an impassioned speech about freedom, told the world about green rocks that would harm SuperPope, and then blown up Wayne Manor. It was informative, dramatic, and not at all like the man Clark knew, who would never surrender, or give out information. 

"Well, Clark, I always knew you'd get in trouble without me there to reign you in." 

Clark rolled his eyes at Bruce and drained the last of his water from his supply run. "So, master planner, how are we going to effect a revolution in the six hours we have left?" 

Clark asked but there was a long silence where they both thought about it. They seemed to reach a conclusion about the same time. 

"Transvestitism?” Bruce said, just as Clark said, "Sex tape?" 

"Women's clothes? Have you not seen what the Pope wears in our world?" 

"Sex tape it is." Bruce agreed, but he didn't sound as enthusiastic about it as Clark would have liked. 

"We can throw in the crossdressing, if you like." 

"You're too kind." Bruce's voice was a dry as the desert. When next he spoke, his voice was back to normal, so clearly he had a plan. "We'll need a fancy office, a midgrade camera, suit for me, dress, no, skirt and jacket combo for you. You'll never find a dress to fit that body frame in less than six hours. Midgrade camera will make it look as if this was filmed years ago, so we don’t have to worry about adding grey to your hair, or people wondering if I’m still alive.” 

Clark had several questions, but knew better than to waste time asking. "So I'm doing the crossdressing." 

"Try my office, it might not be in use since I was basically a figurehead and I'm dead. We could film there, make it look as if there is a reason for making the tape. Go, shop, and try not to rescue any kittens." 

"Someday, I'm going to buy you a cat. You'll sing a different tune when it's your cat stuck up a tree." 

"I'll have Catwoman teach it climb down. Now go." 

Clark went, grinning. His first stop was a thrift store in one of Gotham's many poor districts. He was able to pick out an old tux that no fashion authority would ever admit to designing. Finding a blouse, suit jacket and skirt took far more work, and three different thrift shop burglaries. One had a box of sewing supplies, so Clark took that too. He'd put on the suit so if he was seen it wouldn't be in the Supersuit, and when he returned to Bruce with the stuff, he received a fashion forward stink-eye worthy of its own show on Bravo. 

Next came the lube and condoms, the camera, and then the office. Bruce's office wasn't in use, and as Clark pulled off the dust covers, he realized how impractical the office was. W.E. was still running, with Fox in charge, but clearly didn't have any use for an office that could hold fifty people and table of drinks. Once the supplies were in the office, Clark went back for Bruce, all done without any human eye seeing him. And Bruce didn't think he was sneaky enough. 

"Change clothes, no underwear." 

"Golly Bruce, you sure know how to sweet talk your way into somebody's pants." 

"Those are my pants, and I need to make a few adjustments to them before we're ready. When you've changed, script is on the desk." 

"We need a script to have sex now?" 

"Has to look like it was recorded for a special reason, as you're not supposed to be able to sneak a camera in on Superman's private life." 

Clark handed the suit to Bruce and made a mental note to check his apartment for cameras when they got back. Naked, he went to the desk and read through the script. Bruce had written it over one of those magazine ads full of naked people and no clear idea of the product for sale. It was a very detailed script; including words like fellatio, intercrural, and gasp of pain. For as detailed as it was, it wasn't complicated or long. 

Clark spent much longer trying to get his skirt on, wondering why so many fasteners were needed in addition to the zipper. Once that was done, he realized he needed to tuck in the blouse, but the skirt's waist didn't have the give of his man trousers, so he had to undo the skirt. The jacket went on easily enough, but apparently wasn't made to close in the front, even though Clark's pectorals weren't big enough to need a bra. Dressed at last, Clark went to mess with the camera. 

"Bruce, I don't know if I want to rip this skirt for the camera. I mean, I don't know where I'd ever wear it again, but it was such an effort to find and figure out that I'm afraid to risk finding another. If it's that difficult to find a decent outfit, no wonder women never throw anything away." 

"Just be glad you weren't trying to find a decent bra." 

"When have you ever bought a bra?" 

"Tim said he wanted to practice his disguises. You got the camera working yet?" 

"Sure do." Clark answered, even though he knew Bruce would make sure. 

Sure enough, once dressed, Bruce went to check over the camera. This did let Clark check out Bruce in his new outfit. With twenty minutes and a needle and thread, Bruce had turned the old tux into something that could have been stylish once. He'd sharpened the lapels and rearranged the buttons, making it look like an old but expensive suit Bruce Wayne might be willing to destroy in a sex video. He'd put some extra fancy knot in the cheap blended tie that hid the stain and made the material seem nicer than it actually was. 

"I didn't know you were so good with a sewing needle. Learned to sew Dick's play clothes?" 

Bruce snorted. "Used surgery stitches and cheap thread. If it starts to pull apart early, deviate from the script to remove it, but keep my shirt on. My scars might make it too easy for people to claim it's not actually Brucie on the tape." 

"Right." Clark agreed, knowing it was actually Bruce not wanting the scars seen. It had taken a while, but Clark had learned that Bruce saw the scars as proof that he should have been faster, smarter; less human. Less beautiful. "You ready to start?" 

"Horny, farmboy?" 

"As you wish, buttercup," Clark said, and hurried along before Bruce got the ‘unimportant but still somewhere in his brain’ reference. "Or maybe I just want time for a second take, just in case." 

"Don't mess up." Bruce ordered, right before closing his eyes. He stretched his neck and rested a moment. When he opened his eyes, it was with the vacant look and loose marbles of Brucie in them. He started the camera, completely different than he'd been five minutes ago. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Brucie asked, leaning in to look at the front of the camera, as if he could see it working that way. It also gave the observer a clear view of his face, proof that it was Brucie Wayne. 

"Did I stutter?" Superman enunciated from off camera. 

"No sir, I don't doubt you, sir. It's just that a celebrity was recently in the news with her sex tape. These things have a way of coming back to bite you in the ass." 

"It's your ass that'll be bitten if it does." The words confused Brucie, so they shifted to orders. "Quit fucking around with the camera and get in place." 

"Yes sir," Brucie responded quickly, hurrying over to sit in his desk chair. The camera showed the front of the desk, Brucie's head and torso sticking up from deep within his fancy office chair. He looked down and started flipping through the magazine in front of him, so he missed his secretary moving into view. The camera got a great shot of his amazed, lust filled expression when he looked up at his name. The camera only got a bit of suit jacket and of dressy bottoms on the large secretary. 

"Mr. Wayne," Superman said, voice uncomfortably high pitched. "You sent for me?" 

"Yes sir," Brucie replied. His face was perfectly captured in a look of fear before he hurried on. "I mean, yeah, babe, I called you. Need some dictation." 

"I think you mean you want me to take dictation, sir." 

"It gets me hot when you call me sir. Come sit on my lap while you take the d." 

"Oh sir, that might be misconstrued!" 

"Sit on my lap or you'll be Miss Fired!" Brucie tried for commanding, but he was a terrible actor. The command was given with all the giddy joy of a kid about to put a bug down his sibling's shirt. 

"Oh, sir." Superman replied, scared sounding. Clearly, Superman was a far better actor than people gave him credit for. 

"Now!" Brucie commanded, snapping his fingers for emphasis, yet he still looked like he was playing a part. 

Standing, the secretary slowly walked around the desk, showing the camera that it was Superman in a jacket and skirt. (The stage directions called for this walk to last five seconds, giving the audience time for recognition of Superman, what he was wearing, and the shock to set in.) On second six, Superman sat primly on Brucie's lap, sidesaddle. 

Brucie's manicured nails are reflect the office lights as he grabs Superman's face and forces his head around for a brutal kiss. "So sweet and innocent, like I don't know a cock whore when I see one." 

The desk prevents the camera from seeing, but there's the sound of fabric ripping. It could be Superman ripping the skirt with his impressive leg strength, or Brucie doing it with the power of his lust. Superman stands, showing his skirt is now torn up to the hip. 

"You terrible man!" He gasps out, but Brucie is standing too, pulling Superman into a hug. He whispers in his ear, but the camera picks up every word. 

"I know, I'm such a bad man. You think I'm going to take what I want, and I am." His words are threatening, but his tone is a plea, Brucie's libido taking over where his acting skills fail. "I want to bend you over that desk and knot you, but I'm not going to. I'm going to have fun, yes, but it's up to you if you get to have any fun. You have to ask nicely for it. Spread yourself over the desk and beg me." 

"Never," Superman declared, complete with the classic damsel in distress pose; back of hand to forehead. 

Brucie spun his secretary around, one hand holding Superman's upright torso, while the other messed with clothing. Not much for the camera to see, except the way the torn skirt was raising under the influence of Superman's erection. Something else pushes at the skirt, moving it a little as Superman gasps again. Now the skirt is bunched up in Brucie's large hands, pulled taught around Superman's erection and held aside. The head of Brucie's cock is visible, sliding in and out of the v of Superman's legs. Superman is clenching his thighs together, as if to slow down Bruce's push through, but it's only making Brucie happier, if his groans are anything to go by. 

Releasing Superman's torso, Brucie lets his other arm travel down to pull out the tucked in blouse, to slide up under it to tease and pinch at nipples. Brucie's face long ago lost the look of a bad actor trying to be convincing as a villain. Now he looks amazed that he gets to have this, and more than a little in love with the man he's having his way with. (This was not in the script, but Bruce will make sure Clark doesn't get to see it before they leave.) Brucie begins to kiss and lick at neck in front of him, nibbling on earlobes. 

Brucie's manicured hands seemed made for sex, slowly unbuttoning the blouse Superman wore from the inside, until everybody could see Superman's perfect skin flushed with desire. Now able to freely trail his nails across Superman's chest, stopping to torture a nipple, Brucie had fallen into the MadLibs of sex; gonna fill you with come, you take my cock so good, fuck baby. 

Apparently it was just the right combination to Secretary Superman's chastity vault, as he gave a moan in his manly voice. He then shrugged out of the jacket and blouse and ripped off the rest of the skirt. For three seconds (long enough for people to get a quick look and find it again when pausing the playback if they wanted to, and they would) Superman was naked and aroused before the camera, Brucie's cock still sliding in and out of his thighs. Then Superman spread himself out on the desk, ass presented to Brucie. 

"Fuck me, please, fill me up with your thick cock. Fuck me Brucie!" 

A sharp slap to his ass brought attention back to Brucie. "It's Mister Wayne to cock sluts." 

"Please fuck me, Mr. Wayne!" Superman tried again, back in his terrible falsetto. 

"Get me wet." 

Moaning, Superman got up, only to drop down and take Brucie's cock in his mouth. He didn't hesitate, as if he'd done this a thousand times before. Brucie was still fully clothed, having only taken his cock out of the zipper in his pants; his tie wasn't even crooked. One could believe him to be a rich bastard who expected this of all people, except for the dazed expression on his face that said he couldn't believe his luck. His eyes began to flutter, his face reaching for his 'O-face' when he stopped Superman with a cuff to the head. 

"Enough. Back on the desk." 

It might have been the grammar of that statement, but Superman did climb back on the desk, only this time his back was on the desk. His head was furthest away from the camera, and Brucie had to move to accommodate the weird angel. The camera caught Brucie shoving in, way slicked only by Superman's spit, but Superman's leg blocked the actual point of insertion. One might wonder if this was to provide Superman with that one remaining shred of privacy, but that would be counterproductive to a sex tape. No, all amateur productions had unfortunate camera angels, that's all it was. Hips flush, Brucie paused to close his eyes and take a moment, stopping himself from coming on the spot. 

"Fuck me, Mr. Wayne." The command wasn't said in falsetto, though it did stick with the 'call me Mr. Wayne' instruction. 

Brucie hiked Superman's far leg up, and fucked into him as instructed. More words started coming from his mouth, including a strange 'cl' sound as he got closer to orgasm. "Fuck cl. Too tight, so good, didn't prep cl." And so on. If it seemed Superman moaned a little louder over these 'cl' noises, well, he was getting fucked hard enough to move the desk. "I'm close, so close." 

Those words were a spur to action, as suddenly Superman propped himself up on his elbows. "Don't you dare come before me." Superman demanded in his normal voice. 

The command had the opposite effect; as it was clear by now that Brucie liked taking orders. His bliss from shooting his load was short lived, as there was fear on his face moments later. 

"For being a living sex toy you sure don't live up to your reputation," Superman said. His voice had become cold, the kind of cold only villains ever heard. 

"I'm sorry sir, it was too much, so perfect, such a privilege." Brucie begged but meant every word. "I'll do anything to make it up to you. I'm your omega." 

"I deserve so much better than you." Superman said, wrenching himself off of Brucie's softened cock. A quick move had him picking Brucie up by his lapels, ripping the jacket off as he shoved him backwards, and off screen. "Guess what I'm going to do with this erection." 

Superman moved off-screen as well. More cloth ripped, and then there was a moan of pain, from Brucie. "How wet are you?" Superman asked, derision in his voice. There was the sound of a slap, and at that, the camera moved, falling over and going dark as it hit the floor. 

Bruce looked up from where he'd pressed the stop button, to see Clark had lost his erection. Bruce felt a moment of regret, as he was going to help Clark with that, but Clark started talking and Bruce ignored that feeling. 

"Ick. I need a shower. Even knowing it was pretending I never wanted to be that guy." 

"I've never done that to an employee either," Bruce felt obligated to mention. He didn't mention that knowing it was pretending was all that kept him stiff enough to match Brucie's terrible acting. "Let's get dressed, return what's not been destroyed, and get ready to finish what started all this." 

"Good idea." Clark quickly dressed in his Supersuit, then the remnants of Bruce's tux as Bruce previewed the video. Clark returned the sewing kit, the camera, the jacket and blouse. 

Bruce tossed on his basic batsuit and got busy spreading the video. He managed to hook the ancient library computer into W.E.’s Wi-Fi and posted the video everywhere he could think of. He'd started with Red Tube, YouTube, and then moved on to more traditional media outlets, like the Associated Press. The YouTube video had four hundred hits, and a twitter hashtag had started by the time he'd run out of places to send it. Clark saw this as he returned from his reverse burglaries. 

Clark was made to destroy the original memory card with heat vision, so the source could never be found and the metadata reveal it was made after Brucie’s death. He was glad Bruce hadn't made him watch it, and that they hadn't had to try and redo it. Clark took the computer back to the library, and Bruce redressed in the cape and cowl. Batman settled in to Brucie's office chair for a nap while Clark covered the furniture back over with cloths. Clark sat in the sunlight and recharged. Maybe it wouldn't start a revolution, but hopefully people would start to question SuperPope. 

Clark knew he wasn't perfect and doubted this version was either. He’d felt like SuperPope would do what they’d done in the sex tape without a qualm. That wasn’t the fault of religion, even if SuperPope did hide in his faith. That was absolute power corrupting, absolutely. Bruce didn’t want to hear it, but Clark knew that Brucie’s suicide had something to do with SuperPope going off the rails. Brucie hadn’t been seen for the three months after the killing of Luthor, and there was no Batman since about six months before Luthor died. 

SuperPope emerged from the monastery, had himself declared Pope, and then taken over the planet. Brucie wasn’t the only one who’d tried to stop him, but most of the other JL members were killed outright. Wayne Manor had become a terrible prison for his intellect. Clark would have, well not liked, he would have been interested in seeing Brucie’s video, the one where he blew his house up at the end. After that, SuperPope took over everything; declared peace and decimated standing armies. Weapons were taken by force and he handed out the death penalty without consequence. 

There was speculation, naturally, but nobody could prove the two had ever even met before the Gotham Blasphemy. Clark didn’t have the same background, the Catholic Church hadn’t retained the same level of power over the world back home, and he hadn’t been raised particularly religious. So, he wouldn’t become an evil Pope if he lost Bruce. But, he couldn’t imagine how he’d be if Bruce died rather than work with him. He could feel for SuperPope, even as he sought to undermine him. 

A vibrating alarm woke Bruce ten minutes before they expected to get sent back to their world, allowing him to stretch. Clark stood close to Batman, in case he had to keep him from falling when they reappeared in their universe. They were in another city, and probably would wind up in Brucie’s office there, but it was an annoying weapon. Things had been awkward since finishing the sex tape, and he hoped that was behind them now. It also allowed Clark the chance to ask something that had been on the back of his mind since he read the script. 

"What was that in the script, about knots and omegas?" 

"I'm not sure; I had some porn running while I wrote the script, to make sure our act would fit in. Those words were said with frequency, so I worked out the meaning from context and put them in. I think an omega is some kind of submissive. The word wet was really overused too." 

"All right," Clark agreed, before putting it out of his mind as they began to dissolve. He had a brief memory of Brucie saying sex tapes come back to bite you in the ass; Clark figured he'd laugh over that eventually. 

sB _Sb_ Bs


End file.
